


Flip This

by Damalia (Achrya)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha Armin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camp Nanowrimo, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Language, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Character Death, Omega Eren, Permanent Injury, Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren has spent the past ten years of his life in the military and hasn't ever considered what might come next. When an injury ends his career, and changes his entire life, he doesn't...handle it as well as he could. A year later he's a little strapped for cash, staring at a bottle of ridiculously expensive heat suppressants, and wondering why he's even bothering. And then there's Armin, because there's always Armin, offering him a simple solution: a 'fake' marriage to get onto his friend's medical insurance. </p><p>What follows is a few out of control lies, some well meaning but terrible friends, a sister who is determined to make sure the wedding is flawless, a metaphor in the form of a house that might be too damaged to be saved, and two very confused people who probably should have been together all along trying to figure out how to fit together while one just tries to remember how to fit anywhere at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for injury, off screen amputation, some talk about masturbation, and rampant sexism.

 

It happened on a normal day. If he had to call it anything he would have called it ‘boring’. Just like the day before and the day before that.

When he looked back on it and tried to find something that sticks out, something he should have noticed, something that they all missed that had they seen would have made things turn out differently there’s nothing at all.

He isn’t sure if that makes things better or worse.

It was hot but the desert tends to be that way, and the sun was high and bright, only occasionally ducking behind the taller buildings they were slowly creeping through. Sand for miles, sand in his boots, sand in his mouth and hair and eyes. After a couple months that cheesy Star Wars line seemed a lot less dumb and a lot more true to life.The sky was clear and calm with only the occasional wispy cloud to break up all that endless blue.

Transport duties were boring, made even worse because they blended his unit with another unit and suddenly the more or less reasonable people he worked with day in and day out became giggling morons. Case in point, normally he and Jean rode together but today they’d been directed to different vehicles while the commander of the convey loudly proclaimed he didn’t want them gossiping like a pair of hens.

It wasn’t so much the words from some jackass who didn’t know them that stung, because honestly what was gossiping like hens supposed to mean anyway, as the snickers of the people in their unit.

Because after ten years in the military, all of which he’d had the dubious pleasure of being in the same unit as Jean Kirschtein, it wasn’t that they worked well together or could trust each other to do their jobs competently that made them want to ride together, it was that they were both omegas.

And wanted to gossip.

With each other.

He didn’t bother fighting about it anymore. Once upon a time, when he’d been younger and less tired, he would have been the first to raise hell, assuming Jean didn’t beat him to it (and in hindsight maybe the similarities between them were why they’d clashed so hard in and after training. Maybe it was that they’d always found themselves pitted against each other by their CO’s. Maybe it was just that Jean was a douche. Who could really say?) but now he just ignored it as best he could.

He’d learned the hard way that rising to the bait just made him look emotional or, even worse, the stereotypical hysterical omega. If he fought back he had to suffer through teasing and questions about it being ‘close to that time’ and the not all that quiet whispering about PHS.

All he could do, really, was be better than everyone else. Shoot straighter, march further, fight harder, and complain less; anything else was pointless. He did all that and more, worked harder than anyone else in the unit save maybe Jean and there was respect there, usually. There was no one would would dare say they didn’t trust him to have their back or would have been more comfortable with some random alpha covering them instead, but.

But. When outsiders came in and made their jokes it was easier to laugh along and join in. He expected it, tried not to feel anything about it. He understood why it was the way it was. Standing up for an omega who was getting shit was something that caused more trouble for everyone involved more often than it helped.

The military, for all that it promised equality for beta woman and omegas, was still very much an alpha space with some room for beta males. Omega males were rare in the military, the rates of harassment and assault were high, and everyone just sort of kept their mouth shut and looked the other way.

Still better than being an omega female by any stretch of the imagination. One label marking him as ‘lesser’ was bad enough, two must have been hell. That was probably why the omega females he knew were the hardest and shrewdest soldiers he’d ever met. They didn’t have much choice to be anything but.

He couldn’t say that being in the same vehicle as Jean would have made any difference. Maybe they both would have gotten hit and he would have ended up dead. Maybe neither one would have.

All the really mattered is that one minute he’d been tapping fingers over his rifle, trying not to be angry as he looked over the sandy landscape and the next the world was exploding. The vehicle in front of them was hit first, slamming to a stop as a plume of flame erupted along its side. He barely had time to register it before he was flying, slammed against the side of the truck and then tumbling, slamming against metal, class, other bodies. Something roared and screamed in his ears and then there was only silence that was just barely pierced by a high ringing whine. It seemed to resonate deep in his brain, throbbing against his skull.

His vision shook even after the world finally settled and he was angled wrong, crushed against something, went dark, came back hazy and burning, all wrong somehow, was gone again as pain that stole his breath crashed into him.   

Came back and he was on the side of the road, breathing grit and sand, head splitting open and spilling everything out or maybe it wasn’t but he coughed and everything was wet and coppery and _screaming_

It hurt. He hadn’t know anything could possibly hurt so much, and he was familiar with pain but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, it all hurt so much.

Was he dying?

Must have been.

Mikasa and Armin were...they were going to be so

Darkness, sand, blood, dark, shouting, rapid fire gunshots somewhere nearby but far away he felt the noise from them rattling his teeth. Heat like fire all over his skin, biting and tingling, clawing.

“Kirschtein! Get down!”

He heard it and, a moment later, was jostled and dragged then nothing at all. Or maybe something but the world was dark and tilting and someone was talking, pressing against him, swearing and

Fuck, why was Jean so fucking loud? This must have been hell. Fucking typical. Couldn’t even die in peace. He wanted to pushed Jean away, or at least tell him to shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t move.

On the upside the pain was giving way to chilly numbness.

It was nice. Better than the fire.

“Eren? Eren!?”

\---

There are events in life that no amount of time could take the sharpness from or dim the memory of.

Armin remembered sitting at the Jaeger kitchen counter, cookies spread out between him, Eren, and MIkasa when his grandfather walked into the room trailed by a pale faced Mrs. Jaeger, head down and hands gripping the funny looking straw hat he always wore like it was yesterday. He remembered the touch of his grandfather’s hand on his shoulders as the man knelt in front of him, the redness of his eyes, the halting words to explain that there had been an accident, that the little blue farm house with it’s white trim and red flower boxes had burned down, and that his parents wouldn’t be coming back to pick him up.

Most of all he remembered Mikasa draping her scarf around him, tucking it tightly around his neck while Eren stood at his side, hands curled into angry fists, furious when Armin was too shocked, too shaken, to be.

He remembered Eren’s first heat, or the start of it anyway. It was a field trip and they were eleven and Eren had been slow and lethargic all that day, looking sick but not wanting to miss the chance to go to the museum and then, seemingly all at once, he’d been slumped against the wall in the bathroom, clutching his stomach and twisting around, sweating through his clothes while Armin fretted over him and tried to ignore the raging heat in his own body. The embarrassed realization on Eren’s part when he realized what was happening, the horror they’d both felt when they’d realized Armin was _reacting_ to Eren’s heat even though he himself hadn’t presented, Eren begging Armin not to tell anyone that he was _leaking,_ that he was in _heat_. His anger when older boys had come into the bathroom and zeroed in on Eren with glassy eyes and leers and nasty words, the feeling like he had to protect and defend, refusing to budge or back down for anyone until Eren’s father showed up to collect them. The tense car ride home, Eren red faced and near tears, while Armin sat in the front seat, jittery and strange in his own skin.

That he was an alpha was just accepted from then on and even though it would be only be confirmed two years later when his knot developed and a rut followed, there was a shift in their friendship.

He remembered the first time his grandfather had told him that Eren couldn’t sleep over. They’d been thirteen, he’d ‘officially’ presented and it felt like everyone around them was acting strangely. Teachers making them stand further apart in line, watching them closer. Eren’s father reminding them to leave the bedroom door open when they played video games and checking up on them more often than he ever had before. Older boys and alpha girls paying more attention to Eren and glaring at him like he’d done something wrong. Mikasa was a little more protective of Eren, though that wasn’t something that had affected him much.

The end of sleepovers, unless Mikasa was also there, was just another thing in a long string of strangeness neither of them really understood. Oh sure they’d known ‘logically’ that it was Eren was an _omega_ and he was an _alpha_ and that those things were supposed to mean something that was bigger than all the childhood innocence that came before puberty.

At the time he’d just been angry and confused and tired of people telling them they’d understand one day. And maybe he’d understood a little because he’d find his eyes lingering on Eren sometimes and he was preoccupied with the way his friend smelled, but things were bad enough with awkward boners and his knot popping whenever it felt like it when he tried to jerk off. He didn’t need people trying to take his best friend from him as well.

He remembered the day he went to the hospital to visit Mrs. Jaeger but turned into the hallway to find Mikasa sitting in a chair, red eyed and still as a statue as tears ran down her cheeks, and Eren sporting a cast that hadn’t been there a few hours before, the result of him punching a wall. The wall, predictably, had won.

He remembered his throat tightening, eyes burning, almost being unable to breathe as he walked to them on legs that felt like they were bogged down in quicksand or sticky mud. He remembered how the rest of the world seemed to just fall away when he reached them, fell into a tight desperate three way hug, tears and snot and anger because it just wasn’t fair that Eren would lose his mother or that Mikasa would lose the woman who’d stood in her mother’s place for so many years.

He remembered holding them up like they’d done for him over the years.

Eren’s mother had been sick for so long, too long, and they all knew it was an eventuality but it was still such a punch to the gut, a loss of someone who’d been so strong and caring, holding his hand and asking how Mikasa and Eren *really* were just the day before, that it just seemed like it couldn’t be real.

He knew that the call from Mikasa would be the same, another terrible thing he’d never be able to shake the memory of, before he even answered it. It was the dead of night, the world dark and blurry with his glasses clattering to the floor as he frantically groped for his cell phone.

They didn’t do this, call each other late at night because they understood that it made the other think the absolute worse. They never spoke about how much they worried about Eren, how long periods without phone calls or emails tore them apart on the inside, made them question their own paths that had pulled them in different directions.

She wouldn’t call like this unless it was the worst.

Her words terse and voice just on the edge of cracking, as if anything but the strictest of facts would make her shatter to pieces right then and there. He felt that way himself, brittle, all sharp edges barely kept together, like each word from her mouth might break him beyond repair.

An attack.

Hurt badly.

No other information yet.

The drive to Mikasa’s apartment felt like forever. Waiting that weekend, barely eating, never leaving, never letting the other out of their sight, waiting waiting waiting, he felt like every moment was emblazoned on his mind. That had been the worst part of it. He’d almost started thinking that anything, any news even the most awful news, would be better than feeling like he was slowly rotting away from the inside out.

He clutched Mikasa’s hand like she might disappear if he didn’t.

When the call came it was Jean, because of course it was Jean. The other man sounded nothing like himself, no humor, no arrogance, no bluster; just distant and high and shaken. Everything got fuzzy after that. He didn’t remember calling his clients to tell them he wouldn’t be doing any more tutoring for a while and that he’d be reimbursing them soon. Didn’t remember the dent he’d put into savings or the flights to get to Germany, wasn’t sure if they spoke to each other or not. Didn’t recall much about the military hospital except stepping into Eren’s room and seeing him there, washed out and fragile looking like he’d never been before, bandaged and bruised, cast on his arm and parts of his head shaved, wires and tubes and machines beeping incessantly.

What he did remember very well was the way Mikasa had breathed in, sharp and disbelieving, before crumpling into a seat next to his bed. The way she pressed her forehead against his uninjured arm and cried for the first time since she'd called him. 

He remembered being scared and relieved and sick all at once as he took in the place under the sheets that should have been rounded by part of Eren’s left leg. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: For depression, some suicidal thoughts, language, ableist language,and...well, Eren's general unhappiness.

Eren didn't remember much after the desert attack. He knew what people told him, that he'd somehow gotten clear of the vehicle on his own on his hands and knees, that Jean had risked getting killed to get to him and wrap up the mangled remains of his leg, that he probably would have died otherwise, that they'd gotten him stable and flown out but there'd been no hope the lower part of his leg. Foot completely crushed and shredded, shattered bone, torn everything else, lost cause. 

What he did remember was waking up and asking for his mother and the stricken looks Mikasa and Armin had exchanged over his hospital bed 

That had sort of set the tone for the next year. Always a step or two behind and everyone biting their lip and looking away because they didn't know what to say to him. Sometimes he thought the way people treated him was worst than anything else. And then there were other days. 

It was cold and raining, Eren’s leg felt terrible, he was in a shit mood, and the absolutely last thing he’d needed was finding out that the combined price of suppressants and birth control were literally more than he’d spent on groceries the month before.

Sometimes he thought that there should be a limit on how shitty a day could be be but then he considered all the awful days he’d had since that day in the desert and figured he should be grateful (grateful. It was a word people used over and over again and it had all but lost it’s meaning) that the worst to happen was falling on the floor, some more pointless therapy, and trying to decide what he valued more: food or not turning into a sex starved moron every two months. 

Compared to ending up with a light armored vehicle severing part of his leg it was actually a pretty good day. 

He’d with his leg aching from just above the knee and lower, past even where the stump was. He felt like he could feel the whole leg full of that pins and needles. Iit only happened when it rained and it always managed to mess him up, make him forget, even after over a year of dealing with it. Some days he got up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand only to tip over and collapse. He could balance on one leg without trouble but when he wasn’t thinking about it, was intent on putting weight on a foot that didn’t exist, it was a completely different matter. 

Safe to say he’d learned to hate the rain. 

On days when it rained he was almost guaranteed to end up on the floor trying to remind himself that there were worse things. Much worse. 

He was lucky to be alive and to have only lost his leg. 

What was learning to walk again and a year of chronic illness, of phantom pain, of adjustment and the harsh reality that he’d lost everything because at least he was alive. 

That was what mattered.

That’s what people told him anyway.

After that it was a matter of getting up and getting himself ready, swallowing some ibuprofen, the heat suppressant, the birth control, eyeballing the anti-depressant and then setting it aside yet again, squinting at the muscle relaxers, getting his prosthetic on, and getting something to eat before heading off to the VA hospital.

He was more or less capable of getting himself around without issues; working on driving had been one of the first things he’d done when deciding to turn down Mikasa and Armin’s offers to stay at their places closer to the center of town. He’d decided to move into the old house, out on the edge of everything and more or less untouched since his mother had died, and that meant being able to get around on his own since. 

It also meant dealing with a ton of repairs and upkeep. A questionable roof, a shit ton of electrical problems, peeling paint and wallpaper, a cracked foundation, termite damage (the termites themselves had been handled before he’d moved in.) windows that didn’t keep the wind out half as well as they should, and a host of other problems. It kept him busy and distracted and he appreciated that. Everything else in his life was about his leg, about the military, about his  _ future _ , about his apparent depression, about how rarely he went outside.

Grisha hadn’t approved of him buying it back from the bank (His father had stopped making payments over a decade ago but the place was in pretty shit shape and the bank had been all too happy to offload it for a ‘steal’ of a down payment that had eaten into a decent chunk of the money he’d saved while overseas) and worried about his ability to make the monthly payments on his truck and the house, about him being so far out all alone, about the strain the repairs put on him, about him hiring trustworthy contractors. Or, rather, contractors who wouldn’t take advantage of some poor crippled unmated omega whose nearest neighbor was 45 minutes away. It was something that his father carefully danced around actually saying but they both knew that was what he really meant when he brought it up. Grisha had been proud of him, confident in his ability to care for himself, right up until he hadn't been anymore. Now he even worried about him working on the house himself and driving and finding a job or figuring out what he was going to do next and it was just nonstop.

Eren had needed something that just was what it was and that he could deal with, alone, and the house had been it.

So he’d bought it. 

And a truck that was nearly as old as he was and needed almost as much work fixing it up as he’d needed. There was the other, newer vehicle, but it was the old one that he loved like some people loved their pets or children.

Maybe not as much as people loved their children. 

Not that Eren would know. His experience with ‘children’ in relation to his own life consisted of obsessive paranoia about protection and birth control, never so much as a scare in his life. He knew that kids didn’t fit with the military life. If he wanted to be taken seriously he had to be above the stereotypes, which was why after a ‘bad’ breakup (he hadn’t thought it was bad but then Thomas had started some less than flattering rumors around their unit) he’d completely sworn off sex in general. 

And now...well. 

The point was the house and the truck kept him sane. 

His therapist, a tiny stressed out looking man named Levi Ackerman who might have been related to Mikasa or might have just been one of the seemingly hundreds of Ackerman’s living in Trost, that he saw once a week at the VA hospital agreed. He seemed to think the projects were good for Eren; they kept him occupied, physically active, and gave him something to look forward to. 

Things to look forward to were good apparently. 

Not taking his medication was bad and, after a lecture from Ackerman that basically amounted to him being a whiney shithead (the guy’s bedside manner was lacking) that made him seriously question his dedication to answering questions honestly and his choice to get out of bed/off the floor that morning, he was about ready to just call it quits for the day and go peel some wall paper or knock down a wall or sleep until his next session or something like that.

But he always had lunch with Armin after therapy and he needed to stop by the pharmacy anyway. So he called in for his refills, sent a text to Armin, and walked to the pharmacy on the first floor of the hospital like he’d done once a month for the past 9 months. 

Which was how he ended up being pulled aside to a corner by the petite blond haired pharmacist and being informed that his birth control and suppressants were no longer being taken care of by the coverage he had.

The pharmacist, an Omega Specialist (which in his experience meant an omega who’d been regulated to dealing with other omegas.) named Historia according to the nametag on her labcoat and the small ‘Ω’ in the corner of it, made a sympathetic face before launching into an explanation about how vets got care, and thus medication, relating to any injuries sustained and that the transition medical coverage only lasted 9 months. 

As he listened to her talk about it he thought he might have recalled something in his separation paperwork reminding him that his transitionary medical coverage, and some other things, would only last so long and that it would be a good idea to have something set up for when that happened. 

He recalled tossing most of the paperwork, including that bit of information, aside in a fit of irritation. Everything had irritated him at the point where he’d been on his way out of the military. Something about being ‘forced’ (or, rather, everyone had strongly suggested he just accept a honorable discharge and considering starting a ‘normal’ life for someone like himself and he’d just been too tired, too hurt, too dazed to do anything but sign on the dotted line)  out of the only thing he knew and had worked so hard to be apart of had made the temper problems he’d thought under control come surging back. 

He’d been angry and bitter and everything army or military had made him want to scream. All the words he’d heard had sounded like ‘Sorry about your leg but, honestly, you’re worthless now so how about you move along?’ and every handshake had felt like a dismissal. 

Historia handed him a pile of papers while telling him about some programs that existed for omega and female beta vets to help with that sort of thing and if he got things started now he could be covered again in a few months but, in the meantime, there was a drug store down the road that carried the generic version of the suppressant he used, the name of which she’d put on a sticky note on top of the other paper, and she’d be happy to call down and get him all set up.

He couldn't decide if he was annoyed or frustrated or….anything at all. He was tired, mostly, and unable to really work up any emotion beyond that. 

He was tired a lot, even when he hadn’t done anything but shuffle around the house. Even thinking about going outside or doing any of the dozens of things around the house he he was supposed to do left him desperate to just head back to bed or, on some days, curl up where he was and stay there. 

Sometimes he felt like he needed to save up all of his energy just to go therapy and then lunch with Armin and dinner with Mikasa once a week. 

Things didn’t get much better at the drugstore. Another message to Armin and then he was waiting in what felt like the slowest moving line in the world, each passing moment just making him feel worse. His leg moved past just aching to throbbing and was feeling uncomfortably tight in the prosthetic. 

When he got to the counter, favoring his good leg, and gave his name he felt exhausted even though he knew, logically, that he’d done a whole lot of nothing at all. From being able to march for miles through sand and under the desert sun to needing to rest after ten minutes in a pharmacy line. 

Things went from bad to worse when he was rung up and staring at a number that, for half a second, made him seriously consider how worth it avoiding his heats was to him. 

The answer, of course, was pretty fucking worth it. He’d been doing it for roughly eighteen years, since that first mortifying experience where he’d presented almost two years before everyone else he knew and was reduced to pained shaking and frustrated tears as his body was taken over by a bunch of feelings he hadn’t understood or expected, and he didn’t see any reason to stop now. 

Except that price. 

The man behind the counter, young and bored looking, cleared his throat. “Sir? Is there a problem?” 

Eren blinked then looked around, catching a few impatient and annoyed people from the people in line behind him, and realized he’d been gaping at the pinpad for just long enough for it to be weird and that all eyes were on him. He’d never considered himself a self conscious person before or easily embarrassed but after a year of having everyone watching his every move and being privy to parts of himself he wouldn’t have shared if given the choice it was impossible to not feel the same wave of shame he’d felt so many times since losing his leg wash over him.

He knew he was blushing, hated himself for it, and muttered something that was supposed to be ‘it’s fine’ before fishing his wallet out of his pocket. Then sighed, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Can you take off the Cy-Sprint?” He shifted uncomfortably as he said it, pitched his voice as low as he could while still, hopefully, being heard.

The man blinked then dark brown eyes slid away from him pointedly; Eren could feel the silent judgement and bristled under it. There was an explanation, all defense and embarrassment, on the tip of his tongue but a soft touch to his shoulder made him jump in surprise; he’d been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed someone walking up towards him. 

“I’ve got.” Armin’s quiet and unmistakable voice had him relaxing, the tension that had been forming in his body draining as if it hadn’t been there at all. 

His eyes drifted to the side and there was Armin, looking up at him. Everyone had sworn that eventually Armin would end up the taller of the two of them, as it was ‘typical’ for alphas to be bigger than betas and omegas, but his friend had managed to hit around 5’6” in freshman year of high school and stopped for good.  Blond hair was pulled back into a messy bun, bits falling free and fanning over his face, glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and he looked concerned but, when he seemed to realize Eren was looking at him, he smiled. 

Armin moved forward, close enough that their hands brushed together, clearly intending to make good on his words. Eren caught him by the elbow, shaking his head.

“It's fine.” He wasn't going to let anyone least of all Armin, think they had to come to his rescue. He was tired, so incredibly tired, of people thinking he couldn't do things for himself or needed someone hovering over his shoulder and clean up after him.

Not that Armin ever acted like that but he and Mikasa were the only ones who treated him like the person he'd been before and he wasn't about to do anything to lose that small slice of ‘same’ in his life.

Armin squinted up at him then shook his head. “If you need it I don't mind. You can pay me back later.”

“I don't need-”

“Just let him pay!” A harried looking woman balancing a red-eyed toddler on her hip snapped. She looked like she was in the middle of a day as tiring as Eren's, dark bags under her eyes and skin pale. She flushed when they looked at her but stayed firm, lips pursing. “Some of us have things to do today.” 

Eren clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together, but let go of Armin and crossed his arms over his chest while resolutely looking elsewhere. The blond paid quickly and smiled apologetically at everyone while Eren held the white paper bag, shame burning in his chest. 

They walked around to the parking lot. The ground was wet and the air was chilly and damp, had his t-shirt clinging to him by the time they'd crossed the wet lot, avoiding puddles along the way. He eyed his truck, dark blue, rust touched, and prone to overheating, thought about driving, and sighed. 

“Catch.” Armin, just a few steps from the passenger side door turned, eyebrows up as Eren tossed the keys towards him. They were juggled, almost dropped, and eventually held onto. Armin squinted at him again, head cocked to the side.

“You okay?” 

He was embarrassed, annoyed, his leg was hurting, and he just wanted to fade away because even with a brick wall between them and the people in the pharmacy he felt like he could feel their gazes burning through him. 

“Leg hurts.”

“Oh.” Armin frowned, eyes sweeping over him and, Eren was sure, seeing right through him. Armin had always had a way of taking in all the things Eren didn't want anyone to see. “Let's go to my place then. We can order something.” 

Eren wanted to protest. He knew Armin liked walking through the park, even in the rain, and over to Mitras Street to pick a place to eat; that was the whole reason the blond lived in this part of the city. He could walk to the school he worked at, walk to do all of his shopping, jog through the park, had his pick of places to spend time at and things to do. That the VA hospital was all of four blocks from his apartment just added to the perfection of the area in Armin's eyes. 

“We can do what you want.” It wasn't the ‘no, let's park at your building and walk like we always do’ that he should have said but it wasn't the ‘god, please just take me somewhere I can't forget about today and not have to face the world ever again’ he wanted to admit to. 

Armin nodded then walked around to the drivers side, leaving Eren to swing himself up into the truck's cab. He sighed in relief once he was sitting and able to get weight off of his stump. Armin didn't say anything, just started up the truck, flipped on the radio and turned up the heat.

They sat for a moment, Eren rubbing at his leg and trying to pretend he couldn't feel Armin staring at him. Tried to communicate how much he didn’t want to talk about it with the hunch of his shoulders and how adamantly he kept his head down.

“Eren.” Armin reached over and touched his shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

Clearly Armin's ability to read him was on the fritz or, more likely, he was ignoring it. Eren slumped against the door of the truck and glared sourly. 

Armin's expression was decidedly unimpressed. 

“I'm fine.” He said finally. The warmth from the heater was being to suffuse the cab of the truck, driving the chill from his fingers and skin. “I'm not...do you know how long it's been since I've had sex?”

“No?” Armin squeaked, cheeks going pink.

“Me either.” Eren grinned ruefully. “And I don't except that to change anytime soon. It really wasn’t a big deal.”

It wasn't as if he didn't have money; he still had some of what he'd saved up while in the service (though, admittedly, he'd sank a lot into the house and trucks and maybe he bought crap for ‘someday’ for the house that he shouldn't and Mikasa was tearing her hair out about it and kept asking how he could be so irresponsible and how had he gotten to this point with no idea of how to keep an eye on his finances and pointing out that he’d never actually paid anything but his cell phone bill by himself up to this point just made her sigh and worry more) and a check from the military would be coming forever and…

There was money, was the point. It wasn't a matter of ‘couldn't pay’ so much as ‘trying to think about where his money went’ like Mikasa kept telling him to.

And he could easily see where wouldn't be much of it if he was paying for suppressants and birth control he didn't need on top of everything else every month. The VA check wasn’t that big, barely enough to break even before this but he would make it work. 

“I think,” Armin said as his eyes drifted down to the pile of papers between them on the bench. “It's one of those better to have and not need than to wish you'd had after the fact sort of things.” 

Eren rolled his eyes but let it lie. What was there to say, really? That he didn't see himself wanting to show any potential dates the stump where his leg had been and that the thought of sex with another person did nothing but make him uncomfortable these days? Hell, he could barely remember the last time he'd tried jerked off (in the shower, balancing carefully, one hand on the wall to prop himself up, tired and miserable and frustrated because his leg was burning and he couldn't stay hard. Seriously considered just giving up because what the fuck kind of state was he in where he couldn't even masturbate? But giving up seemed daunting so he'd slept for the next day and a half instead.) 

No, that was the sort of shit better kept to himself. Armin would just make that sad closed off face that made it hard for Eren to breathe because of how tight his chest got.

Armin had always had a way of of making his body react with just a look or a touch or a familiar noise. Just with the way he smelled, like salt water and sunflowers. 

Lots of other things had changed and nothing could be same but there were some things that he knew he could depend on even if it was just the way Armin felt like home to him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Armin’s apartment was very much ‘Armin’ from top to bottom and one of the places Eren felt most comfortable. Mikasa’s place was another but, maybe, Armin's was a little warmer, a little more familiar to him. 

Probably because during one of his between deployment points he'd helped Armin move in, helped him paint the bedroom a soothing blue, wall papered a ‘feature’ wall in the living room, painted the guest bathroom and laughed when more paint ended up on them then the walls. He’d put up the odds and ends that had been picked up over the years and told the story of Armin’s life: carefully preserved maps, tourist trap shit, and silly things they’d picked up from the beach when the three of them had road tripped across the country the summer before senior year, postcards and knickknacks from when he and Armin had backpacked across Europe, things from trips Armin had taken alone or with MIkasa after he’d enlisted in the army. 

He'd hung up the framed photo of Armin’s parents on their wedding day, inherited from Armin's father, helped pick out bathroom fixtures, areas rugs, and kitchen appliances. 

Some things had changed, there were art projects, cards, and gifts from his students scattered about, sources of pride from his ‘adult’ life mixed with the old, but it was basically the same. 

He pushed around sea shells on the coffee table, aged and delicate, thought about splashing around in the ocean and breathing in salt air for the first time and feeling like senior year and their whole lives looked bright. Moved his fingers to touch an ugly piece of painted driftwood that Armin insisted on giving a place of honor long after Mikasa and Eren had packed away their matching pieces. 

Thought about Europe, walking alongside long stretches of road, hitchhiking, sleeping in hostels or under the stars side by side. How he'd been holding back the fact he'd enlisted on the army the entire time, not wanting to ‘ruin’ their big trip with questions or worry, even though it had gnawed at him.

He thought, looking back on it, that Armin had known something was up the whole time because he hadn't been all that surprised to hear Eren was forgoing college and that for the first time since they were toddlers they'd be separating. 

He was pretty sure Armin had made the smarter choice since the past decade wasn't really adding up to much for him. 

He frowned at the thought then turned his attention back to his bowl of prawn pad thai and some strange cartoon he’d settled on. 

“It looks like there's a serious backlog for this program.” Armin had taken it upon himself to pilfer the papers the pharmacist had given him in order to bring them inside and read them over. 

He was cross legged on the loveseat, papers spread out in front of him and his computer in his lap, face screwed up in concentration. His tongue was poking out between his lips and his glasses kept sliding down and it was so much like high school study sessions that Eren’s heart ached. 

They'd barely spoken since the alpha had settled down to do his research, other than Armin sliding him his card and asking him to get the food when the delivery guy showed up. Eren hadn’t even bothered wasting time trying to convince Armin to let him deal with it himself. There was no stopping the blond once he'd gotten it into his head that he was going to research or figure out a problem and, if Eren was being honest with himself, he probably would have dropped the information somewhere and then thought about it a lot without actually ever managing to do anything with it.

That sort of thing seemed to happen to him a lot. 

“Months long.” Armin continued. He pushed a stray strand of hair behind his hair, frowning thoughtfully. “There's some recourse if you have a medical need and no, finding heats uncomfortable doesn't count.”

Eren sniffed because heats were uncomfortable, so much so that he was edging towards thirty and still afraid of repeating an experience he’d had at eleven. “What does count then?”

“PHS, heat aggression syndrome, recent child birth combined with postnatal depression, and-”

“I get. Nothing I have.” Which was probably for the best since none of that shit sounded like a good time and the last thing he needed was more crap to deal with. 

“I think an argument could be made for depression or PTSD, don't make that face at me-" Armin hadn't actually looked up but seemed to know instinctively that Eren was scowling at him. "If you wanted to go that route but that would still take a month or two and a considerable amount of work to push through. I can help out if you want.”

Eren waved a hand dismissively. It sounded like an awful lot of effort for something that probably wouldn’t work out anyway. And would require him to acknowledge and accept issues people kept telling him he had that he didn't want to have. 

Armin looked at him over the top of his glasses, eyes sharp. “If you had known about this around the time you were getting out you would have had plenty of time.” 

Eren pushed his noodles around; it looked fine and was his favorite thing from his favorite delivery place but he wasn't feeling any particular urge to actually eat it. He shrugged when it occurred to him that Armin was waiting for a response."

“Yeah. That would have been helpful.” He ignored the pointed look that earned him. What was he supposed to say, that he'd fucked up? Him fucking up should have just been expected these days. “It’s done and over with now either way. I'll do the...whatever it is and just deal with it until then.” 

Armin made a face. “Deal with it how?”

“I'll have to pay I guess.” He shrugged again.

“Those prices are ridiculous.” Armin said, frowning harder. “You know the price of heat suppressants went up across the board last year? Almost 14% and the brand you use is one of the worse, even the generic.”

He hasn't known that actually and, now that he was thinking about it, he wasn't sure why Armin would either. It wasn't like it was something he had to be concerned with. Alphas didn’t go into heats and he didn’t think Armin was seeing anyone, though it wasn’t like he’d asked lately and wow he was kind of a shit friend wasn’t he, whose heats he had to be worried about. 

“It’s only because they know people will pay. Who can afford to take a week off from work or school every two months? Almost no one.” Armin made a face as he spoke, looking borderline petulant. 

“I guess I'll have to cut down to one meal a day then.” It was meant to be a joke but between how tired he was and his dedication to moving his food around without actually eating it felt flat even to him. 

Armin's tight lipped frown told Eren it hadn’t been well received on his end either. If Armin had been just about anybody else, his father or other well meaning friends who he barely spoke to because of how well meaning they were, he would have started nagging and asking questions. But Armin wasn’t those people so he sniffed disapprovingly before looking back down. 

“You’re hilarious.” 

“I try.” He said before shoving noodles into his mouth. He chewed slowly, not really tasting the food (too bad, it was from his favorite restaurant.) and it felt like sand in his mouth and throat when it came time to swallow.

He hated this. 

“It's not a big deal.” Is what he said after a few minutes of what felt like strained silence. “I'm not doing as badly as you seem to think I am. And I only have to pay a few months, right? I can manage that.”

The laptop was shut with a soft thump. “I'm sure you can. I just don’t think you should have to. I wish I could do more to help.”

Eren didn't want anyone's ‘help’, he'd gotten enough of that to last more than a few lifetimes. He stabbed a prawn with his fork and made himself smile. 

“You read all that stuff for me. I probably wouldn't have done it myself. You know how I am about reading up on stuff.” 

“I remember having to force you to do your final English project if that's what you mean.” And, actually, Armin had done about 25% of the paper himself after Eren had fallen asleep in the middle of their all nighter. “You're going to do the stuff for the vet program then? It looks like a serious undertaking. Interviews, a bunch of paperwork you'll have to get together, proving financial need, stuff like that but I could organize what you need.” 

Typical. Everything in the military was a painfully long and involved thing that had to be done in triplicate and signed off on about twenty five times and, more of than not, it was that way just for the sake of being that way.

At least it would be a familiar experience.

“Yeah. Not a lot of other options, right?” 

Armin looked up at the ceiling and began listing things off on his fingers. “You could just keep paying, get your own coverage which would probably be just as much, try to claim medical need and skip the backlog, get on your dad's coverage as an omega dependent-”

“I'd rather go into heat.”

Omega Dependency was one of those old carry-over laws that had survived even after the Omega's Lib movement, started sometime after it was realized that Women’s Rights seemed to miss omegas (male and female), had put omegas on equal legal footing with betas and alphas. 

Supposedly equal footing. He knew it wasn’t really true, had spent the past ten years with that little fact very much in his face day after day and he supposed ‘better than before’ was the theme of things. Something like 75% of omegas still preferred to be homemakers and Eren figured that was fair enough, personal choices and all that, but the ones who didn’t got a lot of pushback from not just alphas and betas but other omegas too. 

Ads geared towards omegas still talked about the joys of motherhood above all else and were based around child rearing and housekeeping. He rarely saw male or female omegas without long hair, makeup, and or not in skirts or dresses on the TV. It was all dumb shit, in his opinion, and he tended to ignore it because it wasn’t about ‘him’, he wasn’t one of ‘those’ omegas, he’d just gotten a bad hand when it’d come to chromosomes and hormones. He was a soldier. 

Had been. Now he was-

But it was better. Every older omega he’d ever spoken to said as much. 

And then there was Omega Dependency.

Back when it was rare for an omega to work outside of the home it had allowed an ‘older’ omega who was still unmated to be declared a dependent past the normal age and still keep all the legal protections they'd had when they were minors. On the flip side it meant, in the eyes of the law, giving up any semblance of independence. The parent made all medical and legal decisions because they remained the omega’s guardian and the omega was essentially reverted back to being a child legally.

It was something omega rights groups were trying to do away with, along with some other ‘archaic’ laws that he'd never thought to pay much attention to because they weren't ever going to be affecting him.

Eren couldn't imagine anything worse than that, which was saying something because his view of terrible things had expanded a lot in the past year.

Armin's lips twitched with barely contained laughter. “That's an option too. ...oh! Ohhh, I think I have an idea. No, no, I do have any idea! Uh. Wait. I need that pamphlet.” 

Blue eyes lit up brightly and Armin was on his feet, laptop falling aside onto the couch, and nearly tripping over himself as he ran down the hallway and skidding into a wall before finally vanishing into his office. Eren looked after him then, casting a glance at the TV and finding a new cartoon had come on, pushed himself up to follow. 

He turned into the office then stopped, eyes widening. Armin had practically ripped out the drawers of his filing cabinet and was pulling papers and folders out by the handful, quickly sifting through them and then tossing them over his shoulder carelessly. This continued and the mess on the floor behind the blond grew, while Eren watched with increasing confusing, until toward the bottom of the second drawer where he yanked out a single thin, glossy pamphlet. The delighted noise he made was enough to pull Eren's shocked gaze away from the mess of papers now littering the usually pristine office. 

“What the hell?” 

“I think- I know you don't want to get on your dad's coverage but it gave me an idea and it's so simple but it works perfectly” He jumped to his feet and rushed forward to wave the pamphlet in Eren's face; he could just barely manage to read it with how fast it was being moved.

“‘ _How to add on to your medical coverage_ ’?” He looked at Armin's grinning face, torn between confusion and annoyance. He knew Armin meant well and was just trying to help him out and he appreciated that for what it was, but he thought for a second Eren was going to be willing to sign over his independence to him he was out of his mind. It wasn’t like he was against the idea just because it was his dad, though Grisha and his ‘well meaning’ ways was a big part of that, it was the entire idea. 

Armin knew that, he had to know that, so what the fuck was this? And why did Armin look so damn happy about it? Not just happy, fucking elated like someone had just told him he’d won the lottery and never needed to work another day in his life.

Except Armin loved his job so that would probably make him sad. 

“Are you serious? I don't want to be your omega dep-”

“You're not my child so I couldn't claim you as that anyway. Not that I would even if I could. Give me some credit please.” Armin had switched to his patient teacher voice and punctuated his words by rapping him on the forehead with the pamphlet. Eren tried to grab it but Armin knew him well enough to already be moving just out of range while shaking his head. 

Eren took a deep breath then rolled his eyes. “Fine, what’s your amazing idea?” He even managed to not sound like he was mocking the blond. Mostly. 

“I'm suggesting you get on someone’s medical by becoming their spouse.”

Eren’s mouth dropped open but Armin was still going. He was practically bouncing on the spot, eyes wide and excited. 

“It’s so simple, really, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away. You get married really quick, get everything handled, and you could probably be all set by next month.”

“Spouse?” Eren repeated the word, barely able to comprehend it and almost completely tuning out Armin’s words. Spouse? Him? “You want me to get married? To who? I’m not sure if you were listening earlier but I’m not exactly rolling in prospects here.” 

He couldn't get a date let alone someone who wanted to fucking marry him.

He couldn’t even wrap his brain around the idea of being married. Much like children it just wasn’t something he’d thought about before and now? Now it seemed so far out of reach it might as well be the fucking moon. He was a cripple with a shitty attitude, no idea of what he wanted to do with himself, and the one thing omegas were supposed to be ‘good for’ was something his last doctor had told him he was ‘swiftly moving past the prime years’ for so he’d better start considering his ‘options’ before slapping a bunch of information about freezing his eggs into his hand.

“Oh. Well.” Armin stopped moving, the energy he’d been almost vibrating with seeming to just vanish as he looked at the pamphlet in his hand. “I was going to suggest me.” 

Eren hadn’t thought this could possibly sound more insane but, as it turned out, he’d underestimated Armin. He really should have known better, Armin had proved over the years that he was very resourceful, quick on his feet, and could completely blow Eren’s mind when he was so inclined.

“I hadn’t really considered anyone else. Well, Mikasa maybe, that would work too.” His lips pursed thoughtfully. “She owns her own business so I’m not sure how that all works out for her but if you’d prefer that I know she’d be-”

“No, what- I’m not marrying Mikasa!” Not that there was anything wrong with Mikasa, he could only be so lucky, but he wasn't marrying anyone, least of all her. 

Armin blinked owlishly. “You don’t have to yell. You’re the one suggested it Eren, not me.” 

He wanted to grab the smaller man and shake him. Didn’t, but wanted to. “No, I mean...I’m not going to marry either of you. T-this is not happening.” 

“Why not? It makes sense.” Armin quirked an eyebrow at him. “Adding you onto my insurance would only cost an extra twenty dollars a month and my co-pay is something like 20%, so it works out to cost way less. You’d get everything but dental but that’s just because it’s a separate plan and I could put you on that too if you wanted. I have vision too but I'm not sure you need that. We can work out the details though.”

“But we’d be married!” Eren said it slowly and was rewarded with another confused look.

“Yes. That’s the entire idea.” Armin squinted up at him. “Nothing else would have to change. It’s not like we’d have to live together or blend or finances or anything like that.”

Eren opened his mouth but could only manage a bewildered noise. He shook his head and, with one last hard look at Armin, left the room. What was Armin thinking here, offering to marry him? People didn’t just get married like that or maybe they should but not Armin. He should get married to someone he wanted to be with and loved, not to him out of pity or some stupid attempt to help him out. 

It should mean something, shouldn't it? 

This was crazy. 

He stopped abruptly and turned, almost colliding with the alpha who’d been hot at his heels. He threw his hands up to steady Armin on reflex and smiled in spite of himself at the startled expression of his friend’s face. 

Armin recovered quickly; his lips pressed together and his expression became deadly serious. “This is a good idea Eren. I wouldn’t suggest it if it weren’t.”

Eren huffed, more frustrated than he could hope to put into words, then let go of Armin and headed back to his spot on the couch. He frowned when the alpha sat next to him, so close their knees and shoulders were touching and he was forced to move his hand so Armin wouldn’t sit on it. 

“Don’t you want to marry someone for real? Eventually?” Wasn't that what most people wanted? To be with someone who wanted to be with them and have a family? He felt like that was the sort of thing Armin deserved: a real family of his own.

Armin’s brow furrowed. “What I want is to marry you.”

“No, you think I need your help so you’re going to do something stupid to help me.” Eren rolled his eyes. 

“I never do stupid things.” Was Armin’s deadpan reply. When Eren just stared he cracked a smile and laughed softly. “Maybe I do but this isn’t stupid.”

Eren shook his head. “Right. Offering to marry me isn’t stupid at all.” 

“It’s not.” Armin insisted. “There is no downside. It saves you money and you don’t have to change your life or give anything up. It barely affects me at all and it’s not like this has to be permanent. If one of us finds someone we’re serious about we’ll just get divorced, if that's really what you're worried about. People do it every day.” 

“You should marry someone you love and aren’t planning to get divorced from before the wedding.” Eren muttered, frowning. Something about that thought, divorcing Armin at some point, felt weird. Not like he’d ever thought about marrying him, not in a serious way and not since he’d had a little crush back when they’d been younger and he’s also wanted to marry his favorite actor then too, but it seemed like the sort of thing that...would be forever if it was them. 

“I do love you, more than anyone else.” Armin looked incredibly unimpressed with him. “Where have you been the past twenty-eight years?”

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it.” He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn things were taking, and shook his head again. “You don’t need to do this for me.”

Armin’s expression shifted abruptly to something so open and honest it made Eren want to look away. The blond reached out, taking Eren’s hands into his smaller, softer, ones and stared up at him with earnest blue eyes. He felt pinned to the spot once their eyes met, as if he had been pulled into Armin’s gravity, breathless and suddenly hyper aware of himself and Armin and all the places they were touching, and there was no hope of escaping. 

He’d felt like this before, when they’d been young and Armin would talk about the things he wanted them to see and do, the life they would have once they were old enough, when he’d filled Eren’s heads with his hopes and dreams. He’d always wanted what Armin wanted right up until he’d been afraid of what that meant and decided to break away. 

“I don’t need to, but I want to do this.” Armin’s voice was hard, full of conviction and Eren was so very aware in that moment that even though his friend was short and slight, and had been teased for it in school, that he wasn’t actually small, not really. Armin had always been…larger than life in his own way. He was full of energy and fire and drive and ridiculously stubborn when he wanted to be and Eren had always admired that about him. 

Armin had been willing to put himself out on a limb for him their entire lives, would have faced down a firing squad for him, and had never asked anything from him in return.

His hands were squeezed. “You won’t let anyone do anything for you and I understand that you think you have something to prove to everyone now. I get that Eren, I really do, but you don’t have to prove anything to me so…stop fighting for  _ five minutes _ and let me do this. Please.”

Eren felt a lot of things in that moment. Confused and exposed and ashamed and amazed and absurdly safe and protected and important, like this small  _ but not small _ alpha who he’d played with, shared everything with, and spent most of his life right beside would lay the world at his feet if he’d just allow it.  

He’d never put much thought into marriage and even less into a ‘proposal’ or anything like that but he was pretty sure anything he could have thought up would have paled in comparison to this. It wasn’t romantic, far from it, but it still managed to take his breath away because there was emotion there, so much of it, and friendship and love and he felt like it was all crushing him.

Something heavy seemed to settle in his chest as silence fell around them. Armin squeezed his hands again and Eren had the strange fleeting thought that their hands fit together nicely. He looked down and watched Armin’s thumb rub a circle over his skin, felt it like pins and needles over his skin, and found himself nodding dumbly.

“Okay.” He managed to push out even though his lungs felt like were being held in a painfully tight grip. “I’ll marry you.”

Armin’s smile was blinding.

**Author's Note:**

> Come with me on this journey to (at least) 50k words in April!


End file.
